by Sharon Page
In Vivi, who was so strong, who cared so deeply for Sarah, he could see what love should be.
He grabbed his shirt off the floor roughly. “I don’t love her anymore. That’s what I feel so damn guilty about. That was the one thing I had the obligation to do—remember Ariadne and Meredith forever. But when I’m with you … you are the only person in the world I want to think about. When I was married to Ariadne, I was running away in search of glory and excitement. Every moment with you excites me, Vivienne.” He gave a hard, curt laugh. “That’s the madness of this. The very fact that I want you so much means I’m betraying Ariadne. I’m a wounded fool, Vivi, and you deserve what I’m not capable of giving.”
With that, because he couldn’t face the gentle understanding in her eyes, he took his shirt and walked out.
Heath headed to Dimitri’s study first. He walked in to find Sadie lying on a chaise, utterly naked, running her tongue suggestively around a bunch of hothouse grapes. She waved cheerfully at him.
“No, my love,” Dimitri growled to Sadie. “You must leave. We have matters to discuss not fit for your tender ears.”
An odd thought for a vampire, but true. Sadie still possessed naïveté and innocence, at least about certain things. And ancient vampires like Dimitri believed in old hierarchies and paternalistic views. Young vampires were kept ignorant and women were treated as playthings. Except for the powerful queens, of course.
As soon as Sadie had gone, Dimitri brought out a stack of folded news sheets from a drawer in his desk. He tossed them down. “There have been a series of murders in the last fortnight on the streets surrounding your apothecary. My investigators confirm the finds. Eight people have died from slit throats in the last two weeks.”
There were always footpads prowling the slums, ready to cut a throat to steal a few coins. But slicing a victim’s throat with a knife, at the end of a feeding, was also a method vampires used to disguise their attacks. Heath knew Nikolai would be determined to feed. There would be no moral compunction against taking human blood for Nikolai. That proud, arrogant man would not dream of drinking animal blood instead.
The papers rustled in Heath’s hands. “Did you hire lads to watch the apothecary, as I asked you to do?” On the first night he’d arrived here, he’d spoken privately to Dimitri about this.
Dimitri nodded. “My investigators would visit them and get reports. They are here.”
First, Heath scanned the stories in the newspapers. The first murder had happened two weeks ago. A middle-aged woman had been found dead in an alley, and the small alley was about twenty feet from the apothecary. Within minutes, Heath quickly read all the reports. Eight murders had taken place within a two-hundred-yard radius of the apothecary. The Whitechapel denizens were in a panic, the Bow Street Runners mystified.
Then Heath read the reports Dimitri’s investigators had transcribed from their visits to the four boys stationed around the apothecary. They hadn’t seen anyone go in or out of the building.
Heath frowned. “I’ll start my search there. There must be another place nearby Nikolai is hiding.”
His carriage halted on Whitechapel High Street. Heath jumped down, instructed his coachman to wait, and eased his way through the crowd of inebriated dandies, rough tradesmen, and bold penny-whores who filled the sidewalk.
No point in taking his gleaming carriage into the rabbit warren of streets. Not when he could be infinitely more lethal than an armed driver. At least, when he chose to be.
The blood and brandy mixture Dimitri had again provided him had defrayed his need to feed. But it was still a struggle. It wasn’t just blood his vampire nature required. It was the hunt and the victory over a frightened prey. Night after night, for years, he had fought that need.
He ducked off into an alley and plunged into darkness. He was haunted again—and a haunted man liked to be left alone.
For the first year after he’d lost Ariadne and Meredith, he’d seen their faces everywhere. They weren’t ghosts, but his memories were. His memories flitted everywhere and he could never turn away. Now Vivienne was haunting him.
He couldn’t have her. What was it with his bloody stupid head—and heart—that it wouldn’t understand the word “impossible”?
He took a deep breath. Even on the fetid air that rolled in from the Thames, he could detect the scent of human flesh and sweat, could pinpoint it to the shadowy place where his quarry was hiding. He found the first of his young lookouts crouched in the dark of a doorway, watching the apothecary from across the street. The skinny, stunted lad wore a dirty brown cap and ragged trousers, and eyed him warily even as he pointed out he was the boy’s employer. Finally, he pressed a sovereign into the dirty hand to coerce the lad to speak. He supposed he had to admire the boy’s determination to make money. “So lad, tell me everything you’ve seen. Have either a gray-haired crone or a black-haired man come here?”
The boy shook his head so vehemently, his cap fell forward.
“No, my lord. There’s been no one come ‘ere in the two days I’ve been sitting ‘ere.”
Two days stuck on a foul doorstep. Heath gave him two more coins. “What’s your name, lad?”
“Harry.”
“You’ve done a good job for me, Harry. Stay another day and I’ll pay you a sovereign for it.”
He left Harry fairly leaping with glee and checked with the other boys. Each one watched a side of the apothecary. He was generous with his payments to each, and all the boys gave him the same answer. They’d seen no one. He’d looked into their thoughts. Even if Nikolai had manipulated their memories, he would have detected a sense of blankness or confusion at some point. But there was nothing. Just a stretch of boredom, and the occasional break for a piss.
So why hadn’t Mrs. Holt come back? Wouldn’t she have expected Vivienne to return? On the other hand, she’d recognized him. Had she also guessed he could help Sarah escape her mysterious “illness”?
One question deeply worried him. What did Nikolai want from Vivienne? What was his plan, what was her role?
He’d spent two years with his bloody sire as a prisoner in a castle in the Carpathians. Nikolai lived like a monk, spending his time writing in large, leather-bound books, while Heath had been rotting away in a dungeon. At night his sire prowled for blood in the local villages, hunting with a pack of wolves that ran with him on leashes.
Heath defeated the lock on the apothecary door again and went in. Eight murders had taken place close to this building. If someone had returned—mortal, demon, or vampire—he should smell a trace of their presence. There was nothing but a gutcurling stench coming from the jars of ingredients, and the smell of abandonment and must.
No one had been in here for days. So why would Nikolai kill victims close to this place? Was he watching over it, waiting for Vivienne to return?
Heath crossed over to the grimy window. Fog rolled down the narrow lane, engulfing the street flares. Narrow shop fronts faced him. Candlelight glimmered here and there behind darkened windows.
Where in Hades would Nikolai be living? Would he really choose to live close to here? Nikolai had taken pride in his five-hundred-year existence, his noble bloodlines, his wealth. He had decorated the interior of his castle to look like a Turkish sultan’s sumptuous palace—
Heath? Where are you? Are you … safe?”
Heath jolted so quickly, he almost sent a pile of jars to the ground. It was Vivi. How had she projected her voice so far?
I’m safe and am at the apothecary. You are supposed to be sleeping.
I did. For a little while. Now I can’t sleep. And Dimitri came and told me he believed I could speak like this to you, even though you are so far away.
It was a testament to the power of the connection they were building. That was what Dimitri would say to him when he returned. For a vampire who held orgy after orgy, Dimitri had a lot to say about love.
Vivienne. Heath suddenly realized how dense he had been. She was a connection to his
sire. Vivi, he called to her with his thoughts, why did you come to this apothecary? How did you know you could find the medicine you needed here?
My mother used to go there, when we lived in the stews. She knew the chemist, old Joseph Hartley. He was an honest man. I suppose he was the only chemist I knew, but I just felt … right to go there.
His sire had a great deal of power. He could easily influence mortals, lure them, plant ideas in their heads. Could he have drawn Vivienne to this place?
Had Nikolai arranged all this to send a beautiful succubus to Heath, believing he couldn’t resist? His sire knew he would yearn for what he could never have. A lover. A wife. Love.
Vivi, when you lived with your mother in the stews, where did you live?
In many places. We had to go from one flashhouse to another, desperately searching for a bed.
Where were you born? Do you know that?
I was … Her voice died away. I was born in a brothel. It was on a small lane off the Strand.
Close to here. Was there a reason Nikolai had come to the place where Vivi had been born? Then he blinked. He’d heard the shame in her voice. Vivi, there is no reason to be embarrassed.
Heath, I was born in a brothel. A prostitute’s child. And you are an earl.
Are you trying to say you believe I think I’m better than you? Hell and damnation, Vivi, you are infinitely better than I am. Now, there’s something I have to do. From now on, you can’t talk to me—don’t try to contact me through our thoughts. He feared Nikolai, with his strong powers, would hear. I’m going to find my sire. I’ll be back soon.
Heath, wait for me there. Dimitri is worried for your safety and that completely terrifies me. Let me come and help you.
No, love, you can’t. There were a thousand reasons why not, beginning with her safety. And he could hunt better if he was not restricted. But he knew he had said no because if he searched for his sire with Vivienne at his side, he would want her at his side for … hell, forever.
Stay there, Vivienne. I will come home to you. And this is between Nikolai and me.
Then he smelled the presence of another vampire. He raced to the door, stood in the shadows of the door stoop.
One man sauntered down the road. He moved so swiftly, he looked like he was floating. The light touched on his hair, but Heath had already noted it was auburn, like his. And he knew the silver-green eyes, the shape of the face, as well as he did his own.
Raine.
A prostitute came out of the shadow, right in front of his brother. Her hair fell in matted curls of soft blond, the color of butter. Her oversized dress slid off her shoulder. Dirt streaked her neck, but the display of collarbone and small, round breast were surprisingly clean.
He could feel Raine’s blood lust.
And surprisingly, he could also feel his brother’s internal battle. Raine hungered for blood, but he didn’t want to feed. That startled Heath. When he’d turned Raine, his brother hadn’t been squeamish about drinking from mortals.
Raine was watching the girl but not approaching her. But he wasn’t drawing away. Heath knew why. Raine was now caught between the compassion and morality of being human and the driving instincts of the vampire.
Agony was etched on his brother’s face. It was how Raine had looked when their parents had died. Their mother first; she’d died in childbirth. Their father soon after, felled by a bee sting. Raine had worn this same look—this stricken expression—when he had looked upon their dead father. He had been only seven, young and frightened. Heath had taken care of Raine as best as he could, but an older brother, one suddenly thrust into the role of earl at thirteen, could never replace a father.
“Oh my god,” the girl cried suddenly. “What are ye?”
Raine gave a fierce shout of agony, tipped his head back, and his fangs shot out, lengthening to lethal arcs. The girl shrieked. Heath leaped forward out of the shadows and he dragged the girl against him as his brother launched for the girl’s neck. Raine stumbled and his hands shot out. His brother’s palms slammed into the brick wall so hard, chips flew off.
Heath pushed the girl behind him. “Run,” he told her, knowing she would for he had commanded it. She wasn’t like Vivi; she wasn’t strong enough to resist him. The girl dragged up her hems and ran, sobbing with fear, down the lane.
Raine swirled to face him, his fangs bared, hissing in animal fury. His eyes gleamed red. The glowing irises went suddenly black as his gaze fell on Heath.
And the older brother erupted inside Heath. “Raine, what in the name of Hades are you doing? Where in hell have you been? I was told Nikolai had you. Is it true? Nikolai made me; he’s a brutal beast, a sadist, a raving lunatic. You have to bloody well come home.” He was shouting at Raine, drowning him with questions and commands, like he had done ever since he became head of their house at thirteen.
Raine took a step back. “That home is yours.” He glowered. “I was always second place to you. I was born to be a spare, and you’ve always treated me as less. Now I’m as strong as you—stronger—with the magic Nikolai has bestowed on me.”
This was his fault. He had pushed Raine too much; all he had done was make Raine crave power and position. Damnation, he hated himself at that moment. “What happened?” he asked sadly. “Did you run away willingly to my sire or did Nikolai find you and take you?” As Raine merely snarled at him, Heath grabbed his brother and shook him. “What is Nikolai doing? I think he wants to unleash the demon in me—or in you. Is that true?”
Raine hissed, flashing fangs.
Christ. “We can’t let that happen. Use sense. We can’t destroy the world. You have to come with me.”
“No.” Fierce pride blazed in his brother’s reflective eyes.
He’d started wrong. Things had changed. Since their parents’ death, he’d kept Raine under control by issuing orders. Once Raine had listened to him, up to the age of sixteen, then Raine had rebelled against every one. Another sixteen years had passed and he was still rebelling now.
Hades, what had Nikolai done to Raine? Heath could guess. The same way his sire had used his guilt and regret and despair to create a monster, he was using Raine’s youthful pride and competitiveness to turn him into something destructive and vicious. He didn’t want to have to do this—fight his brother. “Have you been with Nikolai since you left the moors?”
“Yes,” Raine spat. “He came to me there and offered me a way to enjoy my life as a vampire. He wasn’t like you, insisting we had to fight the urge to feed.”
“There have been eight innocent people murdered around here. Was that you or Nikolai?”
An evil smile touched Raine’s face, distorting the recognizable features. “Why did you come to find me? What do you want? To haul me into the vampire council and watch while they tear me apart?”
“Of course not. You’re my brother.” God, he loved Raine. And he had failed Raine, if his brother believed him capable of betrayal.
But Raine reared back and looked upward. Heath had been focused on his brother and stupidly, dangerously blind to everything else. A dark figure swooped down from a rooftop and landed silently on the cobbles. Suddenly Heath was facing a man with white-blond hair, black eyes, an unlined and angelic face. Nikolai. The vampire who had made him a decade ago, who had chained him in a dungeon. Heath expected to feel a rush of hatred, even a long forgotten sense of fear. But all he felt was the need to grab Nikolai by the throat and force him to reveal what he wanted from Vivienne….
Nikolai lifted his hand, palm out, toward Raine. His brother howled, clamped his hands to his head, sank to his knees. “Raine, patience. I cannot allow you to destroy him.” He turned to Heath. “But if you attack me, I will destroy your brother.”
Blue light swirled suddenly around Raine. And when it wafted away, there was nothing there. Raine had vanished.
Heath leaped toward Nikolai, but his sire, older and stronger, could move faster. The blond vampire somersaulted over his head. “Not yet, Blackmoo
r. We will meet again later, though, I promise.”
And in a burst of blue light, Nikolai disappeared.
15
Damn his brother for being such a blinking idiot.
And damn himself for pushing his brother right into Nikolai’s hands. For being more of a commanding officer than a brother. For not showing Raine how important and valuable he was.
Heath stalked into his bedchamber to undress. He ripped his tailcoat off and threw it across the room, where it hit the wardrobe and slid to the floor. His waistcoat followed, the buttons popping off and clattering to the floor.
Then he scented her at the exact instant she sat up in his bed. The thick claret-red comforter slid off Vivi, revealing her lovely ivory skin, her voluptuous curves. Sleepy blue eyes looked him over from head to toe. “Thank heavens you are safe and in one piece.”
Anger at his brother, at himself, and white-hot rage at Nikolai still pounded in his head, but desire overwhelmed it. The kind of desire that a man had to act on, or he’d explode bit by bit—starting with his cock.
Dimitri, damn him, had given Vivi a new nightgown. This one was concocted entirely of ivory lace. Two skinny little lace straps lay on her smooth shoulders, then the lace cascaded down to cling tightly to her generous breasts. Her nipples, when they got hard, would poke right through the lace….
He was going to have to explain to Dimitri the concept of avoiding temptation.
“You shouldn’t have waited up for me, love.” The sight of her, the knowledge he could never have her, turned anger into tormenting agony. But for the first time, his next thought wasn’t “and the curse is your own damn fault.” For once, he didn’t want to punish himself.
